Just Hold Him
by Ryunn Kazan
Summary: AU: Regina's gift to Emma was to send her back in time so that Emma could convince her 17 year old self not to give up Henry.


**In my literature class, I was assigned a prompt that asked "What would (your) future self say to (your) past self?" Not being about to write my own story, I wrote Emma's, thus creating a fan fic! **

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**Just Hold Him**

Emma held her breath as she carried _her son_ to the room where her seventeen 17 year old self was sobbing. She was tempted to just run off with the babe, to try again in her own time and on her own terms, but she knew it couldn't be so. She knew 17 year old Emma had to make this decision. She had to decide to be the mother Emma regretted never being.

She also knew it wouldn't be easy. One thing that still existed for Emma, even at 29 years old was fear. Fear that she knew her younger self was feeling.

Fear had taken root in her conscious when she was arrested for her boyfriend's crime, receiving the sentence of ten months for petty thievery. The roots had deepened when she found out she was pregnant her first month in the prison. The fear had swelled when she was sent to the prison hospital, and more sickeningly, when she was handcuffed to the bed because obviously a seventeen year old girl who had just given birth would try to escape.

That fear had been in full bloom when the doctor persuaded her to look at her baby. But she didn't, not because she wasn't allowed to, but because she _couldn't_. The doctor had pushed her to, but she was so scared. She couldn't be a mother, she had said. Even now, as she carried the babe, no bigger than half her arm, she still couldn't look at him. She was afraid he would hate her for giving him up. Babies knew.

She approached her younger self carefully, not wanting to startle her. She was staring at the wall, her entire body convulsing with sobs.

"Emma?" Older Emma inquired gently.

"What!" Younger Emma snarled, still looking away.

Older Emma took a deep breath and approached her bedside, rocking the newborn gently. "You need to look at your baby." Emma insisted.

Younger Emma froze, contemplating, and then shook her head wildly.

"No!" she moaned, "I can't! I can't be a mother!"

Older Emma gulped, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yes you can. All a baby wants is its mother. Love. You can give that to him. You can do this Emma."

"No I can't!" she sobbed. "I've been alone my entire life! My parents gave me up! I wouldn't know what to do!"

"You be there for him!" Older Emma yelled, looking back to make sure they hadn't alerted anyone. "You take care of him." she said more quietly, "You listen to him, you talk to him, and…" she paused and finally, _finally_, looked down at the bundle in her arms. He stared up at her, his deep blue eyes pulling her in, pulling away all her doubts and fears. She smiled at him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"You tell him you love him every chance you get."

Younger Emma shifted uncomfortably in her bed, she twisted away from the wall, struggling with the handcuff as she turned her eyes to older Emma's legs.

"Are you a mother?" she inquired timidly.

Older Emma looked down at the babe. "I want to be." She stepped closer to the bed. "But before I can ever be one, I need your help. Just hold him Emma." Younger Emma shook her head but older Emma pressed on. "Just hold him, look at him, and if you still don't think you can do this," she shrugged, her shoulders shaking, "then that's that."

Younger Emma trembled, but her mind reeling with thought. Finally though, she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.

Older Emma sighed with relief and slowly (and agonizingly) put the baby in her younger self's arms. She managed to undo the handcuff so she could have use of both arms. Then she waited.

Younger Emma felt the weight of the babe in her arms, the life she had carried inside her for nine months. She heard his small coos, and felt his tiny fingers brush against her chin. She opened her eyes and gasped. He was so beautiful. Beautiful and all hers.

"Hey." She whispered, shifting him in her arms. "Hey little baby." Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks as she rubbed his tiny hand with her thumb. "I'm your Mama."

Older Emma turned away, fighting the sob threating to overflow in her throat as she hurried from the room. She didn't stop to let the floodgates burst, didn't turn around to say goodbye. She ran for the exit as fast as she could. She wanted to wake up in her time and hold her son. She wanted to be his mother. She wanted to stop being afraid.

As she ran for the exit, she felt twelve of years of grief and loneliness lift not just from her bones, but from 17 year old Emma's. She could see her younger self carrying her son from the prison. She could see her rocking him to sleep late at night. She could see her watching him as he trotted to his first day of school.

And finally as she reached the exit, she heard a sound that let her know that everything she had done in the last hour had made a ripple in time and opened a new pathway for Emma's lonely existence.

_She could hear her son laughing._


End file.
